


The bare tassel of Evadne

by anamia



Series: Animates 'verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Battle Pillows, actual cherub enjolras, amorous lamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamia/pseuds/anamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"He was serious; he seemed unaware that there was on earth a creature called woman. He had only one passion: rightfulness."</i><br/>-Les Miserables: volume 3, book 4, chapter 1<br/> <br/> <br/>Wherein attempting to seduce Enjolras is always a bad idea and Bahorel is there for the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The bare tassel of Evadne

**Author's Note:**

> I would apologize to Victor Hugo for these, but it’s his own damn fault for filling his book with so many either depressing or infuriating things. I will apologize to the rest of you, because I don’t even know how this happened or why or if it’s worth releasing to the public. Um, there’s sort of light symbolism if you tilt your head sideways and squint?
> 
> Actual Cherub Enjolras is technically Hugo’s but comes to us by way of tumblr user Pilferingapples, and the whole sexy lamp debacle was a collaborative thought experiment, and I can’t believe I actually wrote the damn thing. I am about 98% sure that this is wildly anachronistic, but I am writing about living furniture, so frankly I’m willing to let historical accuracy slide.
> 
> The summary quotation is from the Christine Donougher translation, which is the one I happen to have on kindle.

Of all Bahorel's friends, Combeferre was the one least likely to burst into his rooms without knocking. The young medical student clung stubbornly to propriety even in the most extreme circumstances; truly, he was the most stubbornly civilized revolutionary Bahorel had ever met, something Combeferre would no doubt take as a compliment regardless of the spirit in which it had been intended. Possibly not even the apocalypse itself would be enough to convince Combeferre to lay aside his courtesy, and so it was that he paused to knock one autumn afternoon, though his eyes were wide and his gestures a little frantic. Bahorel, who as a general rule could not abide with knocking on doors and was busy teaching his knives to fence, almost didn't hear the sound at all.

"Whoever it is come in," he called, eyes still on his dueling cutlery. He heard the door being pushed open and the sound of footsteps, and a moment later Combeferre stood in his main room, momentarily shaken from his distress by the sight of several knives enthusiastically battering each other.

"What's going on?" he asked, prudently not advancing any farther into the room than he absolutely had to.

"We were bored," Bahorel said with a shrug. He glanced up at Combeferre, raising his eyebrows. "You look like you've seen a ghost. You haven't been near the law school, have you? I'm quite certain some of the old fools there have died and refused to pass on to the next world, choosing instead to stay and torment unsuspecting students with their drivel. Or perhaps you have just been to the surgery? No, you would be angrier if something had gone wrong and you wouldn't come to me. Have you come for romantic advice?"

"Of a sort," Combeferre said before Bahorel could continue. "Though not on my own behalf. And advice is perhaps the wrong word to use under the circumstances."

Bahorel's eyebrows rose. "So you have come seeking romantic advice for a problem which is neither romantic nor needing of advice. Color me intrigued."

"Do you happen to recall a certain lamp in the back room of the Musain? It stands about the height of a man -- at least a man of more reasonable stature than you -- and is clothed in that mustard-colored brocade. I think Joly's mother gave it to him when he first came to Paris."

Bahorel nodded. He had always been rather fond of that lamp. It was delightfully frivolous, as lighting fixtures were prone to being. The constant illuminating and dimming seemed to have a certain effect on their character -- certainly candles were as bad as any empty-headed rich boy for holding conversations, though most candles had far more tolerable opinions about the world, by dint of having none at all.

"It has seemed rather, shall we say, drawn to Enjolras as of late, though until tonight none of us noticed this interest."

" _I_ did," Bahorel informed Combeferre. "It thinks Enjolras one of its kind. You must tell our sun not to shine so at night, for he confuses moths and lamps alike with his radiance."

"I'm afraid it's rather too late for that," Combeferre said grimly.

"I say, did it finally make a move? I did warn it that such an action would be unwise, but lamps are as bad as men when it comes to listening to the advice of their elders. Does the building still stand?"

"It did when I left," Combeferre confirmed. "But it was something of a near thing."

Bahorel nodded and rose. "Let me find my hat and let us examine the damage." He glanced back at the knives, selected one of the more reliable ones, and added, "You're in charge of the troops. See that they practice their angles; you're all terribly sloppy still." Then he grabbed his hat, placed it firmly on his head, and gestured for Combeferre to lead the way out of the room. He did not bother to lock his door; any would-be thief would have not only the knives to contend with but the currently resting pillows. Anything they managed to remove from the premises was theirs by blood, and Bahorel would not deny his possessions their exercise by locking his doors. He followed Combeferre onto the street and the two of them set off towards the Musain at a brisk pace.

*

The scene inside the back room could have come straight from a painting by William Blake, had Blake had the foresight to set his depictions of Divine wrath and fiery end times in Parisian cafes. Nearly all the tables were overturned, though one at the very back had managed to avoid the carnage, and several chairs teetered anxiously on splintering legs. The amorous lamp stood forlornly in the center of the room, while in the farthest corner a truly terrifying beast growled. Small wisps of smoke came from where upset candles had met suitable fuel, though it did not seem as though an inferno was about to break out that instant. Most of the humans had fled the scene, though Courfeyrac stood at the beast's side, examining him warily as he tried to convince Enjolras to resume his ordinary appearance. Prouvaire hovered a little ways away, looking entranced.

Bahorel dispatched Combeferre to aid Courfeyrac in his task and planted himself in front of the lamp. "Well?" he asked. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

The lamp shook its tassels mournfully.

"I did warn you about this," Bahorel said. "You'll find no sympathy from me here, especially since you must have been quite forward indeed for him to realize your intentions. Or did you manage to set his hair on fire?"

The lamp shuddered at the very thought, its light flickering wildly.

"No? You convinced him with words alone? I might just be impressed enough by that feat not to scold you for it, though I do wish you'd waited until I had actually been there to see. There's something terribly sad about walking in on nothing but aftermath and, though it does permit one to play detective in order to reconstruct the events, it's not nearly as engaging as actually being able to participate."

The lamp shifted again and Bahorel laughed. "My friend, I rather think you won't be permitted a second attempt."

"Certainly not!" The voice was Enjolras', and when Bahorel looked over he found his friend looking mostly as he usually did, but his eyes still glowed dangerously, as though energy could shoot from them at any moment, and his hair moved snake-like around his face, burning harshly. The lamp at Bahorel's side made a movement towards him and Bahorel very firmly trod on its base.

"Lovely to see you bipedal once again," Bahorel told Enjolras with a nod. "Did you get a chance to exercise your wings before you returned to your state of nature?"

Enjolras ignored him. "I will not tolerate such distractions here," he declared. "I understand that the ways of lamps are not like ours, but we do not permit such behavior from women in this room and furniture is no more exempt from our rules than any other citizen would be." He fixed the lamp with a glare. "I shall ask Joly to remove you at once."

"There's no need to trouble him," Bahorel said. "I've been in the market for a new lamp, as it turns out." He turned back to the lamp. "Is such an arrangement amenable to you?"

The lamp agitated its tassels in assent and Bahorel grinned. "Splendid," he said. "Then it's settled. Come, let us get you settled at once." He bowed to his friends. "I'm terribly sorry I missed the main event, and sorrier still that I must leave you so quickly. I bid you adieu." With that he blew out the lamp and picked it up, hurrying out of the room before Combeferre could demand that he stay and help clean up the mess.


End file.
